Veal

Tortelli are ravioli by another name—a square, filled pasta. And though they vary greatly, like all pastas, tortelli often are filled with fresh ricotta and spinach or other greens, herbs, or vegetables. In Maremma, where carnivorous appetites rule, such a meatless approach is not typical. As you’ll find in this set of recipes, tortelli maremmani have meat inside and outside—and lots of it. Fried chopped chicken livers plump up the tortelli, in addition to ricotta and spinach. Once cooked, the tortelli are dressed with a typical ragù maremmano, made with three chopped meats slowly cooked in tomatoes. My friend Alma likes best boar, chicken, and pork, but here I call for veal, pork, and sausage, because I find that combination comes close to the complexity of the boar. Of course, if you can get boar, by all means use it. This is a great pasta, and worth all the stirring and stuffing. However, it is not necessary to make everything here and put the ingredients together in just one way. The components of tortelli maremmani give many options for delicious meals (and convenient advance preparation). For instance, it’s fine to make the filling and the pasta for the tortelli and leave the ragù for another day. You can sauce your tortelli simply with sage butter, pages 49–50, or just shower them with Tuscan olive oil and Pecorino Toscano. On the other hand, go right to the ragù recipe—skip the tortelli—and make this marvelous sauce to dress any pasta, fresh or dry, or polenta or gnocchi. Indeed, the ragù recipe makes enough for two or more meals. Toss a couple of cups of ragù with spaghetti for a fabulous (and fast) supper one night, and freeze the rest. It will still be perfect whenever you do get a chance to roll and fill those plump tortelli maremmani.

This quick rendition of breaded cutlets with a lively relish will be a favorite at your house, I am sure. For a special brunch, top a cutlet with a fried or poached egg.

Veal cheeks make the most delicate braise. Using a combination of water and wine for the braising liquid allows the sweet, subtle taste of the veal to really shine through. As a side, you need nothing more than the spring’s first ramps and some gorgeous porcini, kissed by the grill. Some years, it just so happens that the ramp season runs long, or perhaps the porcini season starts early, or both. When the two magically coincide, some amazing things happen. Using foil as insulation for the delicate ramp tops gives the vegetables a simple char on the grill. The veal needs time to become fork-tender, a few hours in all, so plan accordingly.

This riff on veal piccata is not a complicated dish, but it does have a few steps to it and requires some planning to allow the sweetbreads time to soak overnight. Poaching the sweetbreads in milk and aromatics before sautéing them ensures they’ll turn out sweet and meltingly tender. I prefer veal sweetbreads, though you can use lamb. Either one is usually sold in one-pound packs, with two large lobes per pack. If you don’t see them out on display—they’re usually not—ask the butcher if there are any in back, and make sure they are impeccably fresh. The delicate richness of the dish means that nothing more than boiled potatoes are needed as an accompaniment.

Tender veal is most commonly served in lighter preparations because of its delicate nature, but the porterhouse cut is substantial enough to allow for a truly rich and deeply flavorful sauce such as this one. Intensely sweet dried figs steeped in wine join a reduction of wine and veal stock to form a syrupy glaze that coats the veal in flavor. Cabernet vinegar (though another red wine vinegar will do) balances the figs’ inherent sweetness with its bright acidity. Uncommon as they are, veal porterhouse chops make this a memorable, special-occasion dish, but you could certainly substitute thick-cut pork chops with excellent results.

For hundreds of thousands of years, we burned bones in the fire and then broke them open to slather our food (and faces and bodies) in the butter-fine marrow. Scooped from roasted veal bones and spread on a wedge of crusty bread, marrow is so rich and flavorful that it threatens to overwhelm. And that’s where the salt comes in. The strident mineral tones of a coarse sel gris penetrate through the fatty richness, letting fly its myriad dimensions—like cutting a ruby from a hunk of Burmese rock. If marrow hadn’t been created by nature, it would have been necessary to invent it just to have a food that strikes so squarely at the core of the eating experience. If it weren’t for sel gris, nature’s felicity would all be for naught.

I still remember the first time I tasted this dish. I was sixteen years old and working my first cooking job to earn some pocket money at a restaurant in my hometown that served European food. Until then, I had almost no exposure to Western cooking (I hadn’t even tried pizza yet!). This dish was a bit of a culture shock for me, but I quickly became enchanted with Italian pasta. For the recipe, you can substitute ground veal or ground pork, if you like. Any leftover sauce can be frozen for up to a month.

I’m sure every cook who loves Italian food has a special recipe for osso buco. But I’m not so sure that anyone has a recipe to serve one, because it’s not the sort of thing you make for just one person. But it’s simple to reduce. The crucial factor is the pot; you need that heavy 4-cup pot with its own lid, so that your shank piece just fits into it and the liquid level stays almost to the top of the meat while it is simmering. That way, you don’t require too much cooking liquid, and the flavor develops intensity. I sometimes make this on a Saturday afternoon, when an Italian opera is playing on the radio, and just hearing the singing and smelling the osso buco as it perks away on the stove heightens my anticipation of a lovely meal to come.

In her most recent book, Lidia Cooks from the Heart of Italy, the great Italian cook Lidia Bastianich introduces us to various risottos that don’t require the patient long cooking and stirring as you pour hot liquid into the rice little by little. In this simpler version,you simply stir the rice into hot chicken broth along with the embellishment ingredients, and when it all comes to a boil, slap on the lid, and cook at a brisk simmer for about 17 minutes. And it’s done—a whole delicious and satisfying dinner.

Recently I stumbled upon a package in the meat counter of my nearby supermarket that contained 1/3 pound each of ground beef, pork, and veal—just enough to make a small meatloaf for two, or for one with some welcome leftovers. I was elated, not only because I wanted to make a small meatloaf and I’d found it so hard to get the mix that I needed in modest amounts, but also because I felt it was a sign of the times. Maybe supermarkets are finally waking up to the fact that so many New Yorkers live alone and should be catered to, instead of forcing us to buy more than we need. So I took the package home and made myself this meatloaf, sneaking in a few French flavors to jazz it up a bit.

This is a favorite dish of mine that I would make often when I lived in Paris in the late 1940s. I’ve learned to simplify it a bit and make relatively small portions. I am partial to leeks, no doubt because of my Welsh husband, who called them the poor man’s asparagus, and they marry particularly well with delicate veal.

Put some lovin’ in your oven! This fabulous dish gets its rich flavor from slowly brazing the veal until the meat is so tender, it literally falls off the bone with the touch of your fork. As it cooks, the aromas of the fresh herbs, earthy vegetables, and wine fill the kitchen. In fact, you may have to keep yourself busy by reading this cookbook until the timer goes off , lest you dig in before it’s done. Seriously, if you have never tried osso bucco, this is your chance! It takes a little more time—and expense—to cook than other dishes, but it’s completely worth it. Traditionally osso bucco is served over risotto, but we like it best over a bed of mashed potatoes or cooked white rice. So go ahead and treat yourself, you deserve it. If you’re not keen on veal, you can use lamb instead.

When I was working in Tuscany I made this dish every day. It’s a traditional osso bucco, but instead of using cross-sections, it uses the whole shank. I love it this way—big and meaty—but if you want to make these into individual portions, have the butcher cut the shanks into cross-sections for you. Because it’s a basic braise, you get started the way you would with any braise—by browning the meat really well and then browning the veggies. The big difference here is I’ve added apples to the soffritto for a little something special. SWEET!

In Italy they don’t eat spaghetti and meatballs. Instead they have what they call polpettini, or little meatballs (page 47). And when they want something bigger, they make polpettone—meatloaf. I figured, if they make little ones and a big one, why not make a medium-size one and throw it on a bun? This size is just right, and if I could have a burger this good every time I wanted one, I’d be a happy, happy girl.

Osso buco is braised veal shanks. The fabulously flavorful veal shanks are cooked for a long time, making the meat so tender that it literally falls off the bones. I’m not sure why, but I think people are afraid of this dish; maybe they’re intimidated by the unfamiliarity of veal shanks. But it’s really easy to prepare and just needs a couple of hours to cook, while the fragrant aromas fill your house and maybe even tempt the neighbors to ring the doorbell to find out what’s cooking. The perfect dish for a rainy Sunday. Be sure to have kitchen twine available for tying the shanks.

This classic Italian-American dish is a prime example of a versatile preparation—you’ll find Marsala recipes made with veal, pork, chicken, and even steak. Not surprisingly, the key is the Marsala wine, which for centuries has been one of the prized treasures of Sicily. It’s a fortified wine—like Portugal’s port or Spain’s sherry—and can be either sweet, which is the type used for cooking, or dry.

Traditionally saltimbocca is made with veal cutlets, rather than chops, but a thicker cut of meat makes for a heartier dish. When you sauté the chops the prosciutto forms a great, salty crust on the outside and the lemon gets caramelized, making a yummy, savory package.